Chapter 14

And it was two weeks after TG-Day, 1991, the thirteenth of December; and she tried again to see me. She tried in vain to see me. I hope it messed up her Christmas spirit. I was certain that they’d gotten my letter relating to Jacob no longer being my lawyer, but so far no reaction from them concerning that, or from him.

Again, I figured that mister Paskin was probably still working on getting me out even though I had fired him. But I wasn’t getting out, not soon. I’d gotten gigged a few times over the last couple of years by a couple of different guards and that didn’t help; but, then again, maybe he wasn’t trying to help me; I sneered at the thought.

I was still getting attempted visits by the dynamic duo. And, I still refused to see them or answer their fucking letters or any of it.

And then it was the Christmas holidays ‘93, and I reluctantly accepted an out of the blue visit by mister Paskin in the first week of December: I had a feeling.

“I know you wanted to fire me, but I’ve kinda been ignoring your order,” he said.

“You work for the bad guys. That makes you persona non grata, I think is the legal term,” I said.

“I work for you. The bad guy, as you call him, is paying me, but he would be anyway; I’m on retainer. Hate him if you want, but leave me out of it. I stared at him.

“Okay, but do not bring up either of the bad guys to me ever again, or I will not be so accommodating,” I said. He nodded.

“Okay, I understand. I will not mention them anymore. That good enough?” he said.

“Yes,” I said. And then we did talk and that for some time. And he did have news.

I would be getting out in January ‘94. He told me to lie low and not piss anyone off: his exact words actually.

And then I got a letter. It was mostly shit as usual, but it was interesting on one level: my traitorous brother was offering me ten million. I guess he figured that that would be enough to pay for my twenty-two years behind bars and the loss of my woman; oh, and yes, my manhood. Well, I wasn’t sure about that part since he didn’t know about it.

“He just got the info now. Just now. It’s been two years,” said Ava.

“Yes, but it was illegal to get it through regular channels; the man had his records sealed; he can still do that even being a prisoner.

“When I’d put him on the case, Jacob, I’d told him not to worry about it too much since Julian seemed to be generally okay health-wise, in spite of Bea’s thinking,” he said. “But now...”

“Okay then, what did Jacob say is wrong with him,” she said. Her husband looked down.

“I really do not want to tell you, Ava, please let it go. You don’t need the details. He is not in any danger of dying or anything like that, okay,” said Blake.

“Blake, please,” she said. “Honey, you’re scaring me. You have to tell me. Please,” she said.

“Ava, he is HIV-1 positive, and...” he said, and stopped.

She sagged down on the couch and cried. “And?” she said, finally.

“Ava, I can’t...” he said. She cried some more, but she did stop pressing the man: she was afraid to hear anymore.

They held each other and cried softly together.

“Wow,” said Bea, and that very quietly, softly. “HIV positive. The man can’t buy a break. And he’s shining on ten million dollars and a house and a couple of cars! He’s nuts, but that he is also purely bitter is perfectly understandable for sure.”

“Yes, perfectly understandable are the right words that’s for damn sure,” said Ava.

“Anyway, so when is the man getting out, then.”

“Hopefully January 25th. That’s what Jacob said is likely. Twenty-two years in that place. Things are so different now than they were when he went inside. He’s going to need help. He’ll be in a halfway house for the first few months, but after that...” said Ava.

“If he’d only let you and Blake help him out, and I don’t mean just with the money,” said Bea.

“Yes, if only,” said Ava.

I sighed. I was in my cell alone, ruminating. I’d never heard of anything like what happened to me happening before; well, before it actually happened to me. But of course, now I had. It wasn’t even that rare. I had been able to get my medical records sealed: dickless and HIV positive. At least, so far, they hadn’t discovered my physical state. Likely they would eventually, but not from me, hell no, not from me. I’d been humiliated way more than enough already.

No one would know about my predicament and be able to talk smack about me behind my back, and they would if they knew. I especially did not want the Willis clan, the Willis’ on the outside, to know anything. I was assured that it was against the law for anyone to get my records without a court order, and I’d be apprised of any attempt like that before the records could be released. No, I was covered. Well, I was legally covered.

“What wasn’t covered was the prison’s rumor mill. Other cons in our block knew about it. They were not in a position to publicize anything, but they knew. I’d gotten looks from the gays and various gang members ever since mister Miranda had essentially womanized me. But, the very small and almost insignificant upside to the whole matter was that I was being left alone, mostly. There was still the occasional blow job that I was required to provide any particularly horny asshole who had the torque to take me down; and there were a deal of those.

But all said and done, I was more or less cool for these last many years since the attack in ‘81.

I’d still gotten attempted visits from my brother and his wife each of which I ignored.

But then I got the most important visit that I’d gotten in the last twenty-two years.

I was seated; and the meeting room was all but empty. It was January 15th, 1994.

“How are you doing?” said Jacob Paskin. I shrugged.

“Depends,” I said.

“You will, and it’s for sure now, be getting out on the 25th of the month,” he said. My smile was for him as much as for me if not to the same degree.

“And now it no longer depends: I’m doing wonderful,” I said. The other man grinned.

I was sitting in the infirmary’s so-called waiting room, really just a green interrogation room, waiting for the doctor. The door swung open and he came in.

He took a seat opposite me, and smiled. “So, you’ll be leaving us in another week or so,” he said without preamble.

“Yes, sir,” I said. “I’ve served my time.”

“Okay, you’ve been receiving treatment for your injuries and the virus here these past years; and you will be eligible for treatment and medication from the state upon release. When you do leave, you will be given two sets of papers to carry with you that need to be presented to any hospital or clinic you choose to be your primary care provider. You may xerox any of the papers you wish. However, the two sets are identical, so copies may not be necessary; but that’ll be up to you,” he said.